


The Smaller Man

by Historical_Muse



Series: Robin Hood (BBC 2006) [2]
Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:59:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Historical_Muse/pseuds/Historical_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Much is devastated by Robin’s cruelty – and further seeds of discontent are sown...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Smaller Man

**Author's Note:**

> Some dialogue is taken verbatim from S1 Ep 13.

_< Well that didn’t take long,>_, Much thought sourly, as he watched Robin carousing with the others as they celebrated their victory over the Sheriff and Marian’s miraculous return to health.  _< You’re all smiles now, when you’ve got what you wanted, but what about me, eh?  I suppose you’ll just expect everything to go back to normal and for things to be just the same between us as they were before.  But somehow, Robin, I don’t think that’s ever going to happen...>_

No, not now – certainly not after what he’d said, anyway.  Even the faintest remembrance of those words made him shudder with shame and embarrassment.

When you’d served with someone in the Third Crusade for five years of blood, sweat, terror, disease and death, and served their family for many years before that, it was logical to assume that you knew them almost as well as you knew yourself.  When you’d seen and heard things no good Christian man _should_ see and you knew you’d be scarred by them for the rest of your days, you’d think that the man who’d seen them with you would feel compassion for a weaker compatriot, when you knew he was stronger than you and so did he.

But oh no, not _Robin_ , former Earl of Huntingdon and lord of Locksley.  Suddenly it was as though none of that had ever happened and now, despite their close companionship and the acceptance Much thought he’d gained with Robin, Robin had reverted to type.  He and Robin were no longer friends, but once more master and servant.  Much was back where he’d started – where he belonged.  Because only someone who held himself superior to you would say what _he_ had.

_“There is no smaller man, Much – you are the smaller man.  All you care about is the roof over your head and the food in your belly.”_

_This_ from the man to whom he’d given unswerving loyalty in the Holy Land and nursed back to health after being stabbed.  _This_ from the man he’d protected ever since they returned to England, and again to whom he’d given unstinting support in his fight for justice – even when that man allowed others to belittle and make a fool of him.  He thought in particular of Djaq – Robin barely knew her, and yet he’d seen nothing wrong in her mocking his shield-mate and his beliefs.  That _couldn’t_ be right, could it?  You didn’t _do_ that to a friend.  Unless, that is, he no longer _saw_ you as his friend...

_Yes,_ he understood that Robin was angry about Marian’s wedding to Gisborne.  _Yes,_ he understood that Robin was hurt and confused because they’d all thought Marian was dead and, now that she’d come back to him, he had lost her all over again.  And _yes,_ he understood that he had no right to feel so aggrieved when he was luckier than most when it came to his relationship with his master and the way he was treated.  Maybe he _should_ remember his position in his master’s service.  But when all was said and done, Robin’s words were cruel and had wounded him – and there were times now when Much grew weary of feeling like Robin’s whipping boy...

His ears pricked up when he heard sniggering and the sound of his name amidst comments he couldn’t quite make out.  He looked up and caught Will, Allan, Djaq, and John looking in his direction and then quickly looking away, laughing amongst themselves.  Worst of all, Robin, on seeing his startled expression, began to mimic it, pointing at Much and shaking his head in amusement.

Well, he’d had enough of being the source of their entertainment.  Dropping his trencher to the ground, Much sprang to his feet, limbs animated by the hurt and humiliation prickling under his skin, and turned on his heel with as much dignity as he could muster, slinging his satchel over his shoulder.  Judging by the massed “ _Oooh_!” from his supposed companions, he was yet again providing them with something to laugh at; but all Much wanted was to get as far away from them as he could.

Stalking off with catcalls and Allan’s “Was it something we said?” ringing in his ears, as he headed deeper into Sherwood Much wouldn’t have cared if he’d run straight into Gisborne on his way:  at least the company in the castle dungeons would be more congenial than it was in the outlaw camp.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

It was dark down by the old hollow oak, but it was a sheltered spot and far enough away not to hear the voices of the others carried here on the wind.  Far enough away so that _they_ wouldn’t hear his tears of anger and mortification and, yes, of disappointment and betrayal.  Had Robin _really_ forgotten so soon what they’d gone through together?  Did having a new set of friends to impress and show off to mean that the friend who’d stood by him for so long could be discarded like an old and rotten apple core?

_“You speak every facile thought that enters your head...  You’re like a pox on my skin I keep scratching.  You never go away...”_

Much shuddered as he remembered Robin’s cruel words.  He understood that Robin had been upset and that his mind had been in turmoil, but he couldn’t help wondering if it had also been the chance Robin had needed to lambast his oldest friend with a few home truths that he’d wanted to say for a very long time.

_< And God knows, it’s true when they say that the truth hurts...>_

Much was so engrossed in his sense of unhappiness and confusion that he didn’t hear the footfalls in the leaves until he was startled out of his reverie by a chirpy voice hailing him from the gloom.

“Oi-oi, what’s goin’ on ‘ere, then?  Campin’ out, are we?”

Much looked up hopefully – then looked away.  “Oh.  It’s you.”

“That’s right,” Allan nodded cheerfully.  He added a cheeky wink for good measure.  “Large as life, and twice as ‘andsome.”  He looked about him.  “Well?”

“’Well’ what?” Much snapped back.

“Well, aren’t you going to ask me to sit down?  Invite me to take a seat in your comfortable boudoir?”

“And why _should_ I?” Much retorted angrily.  “I heard what you said about me, Allan a Dale.”

Baffled by Much’s outburst Allan spread his hands, his wide blue eyes innocent and puzzled.  “I don’t remember now.  What _did_ I say?”

Not looking up at him, Much poked a branch into the fire to stir the embers.  “I _did_ leave because of – of what you – everyone was saying about me.  You can’t expect me to sit comfortably while you all...make fun of my personage.  I may be a little foolish at times, Allan a Dale, but I’m not _completely_ stupid.  I know what you all think about me.”

“And what’s _that_ , then?”

“ _You_ know,” Much replied, flustered.

“No I don’t.”  Allan paused, hands on hips, and looked at Much expectantly.  “Can I, then?”

“Can you what?”

“Can I sit down?”

“Oh...” Much flapped a hand at the pile of leaves beside him.  “If you must.”

“Ey theng yow,” Allan chirruped, arranging his long legs comfortably and settling himself down.  He looked around the small area lit by Much’s fire.  “You’ve made this very nice, Much.”

“Oh yes, _very_ funny, _I’m_ sure,” Much huffed, prodding wildly at the small fire.

“No, no – I _mean_ it!” Allan exclaimed cheerily, standing up and brushing leaves and twigs from his backside.  He strode towards the hollow oak and poked his head inside.  “And an indoor bedroom for if it rains, complete with a wood pile!”  He ambled amiably back to Much.  “Nice, _very_ nice.  And _very_ snug an’ cosy!”

“I suppose you’ve come to make _further_ mockery of me,” Much huffed.  “I suppose the others sent you, did they?  Gain my confidence and then go back and make a guy of me for them behind my back?”

Allan looked hurt.  “Oh, _Much_!  You _wound_ me with your cruel tongue!  How can you think that of _me_ , of _all_ peop–”

“ _See_?” Much sniffed, poking the fire even more roughly until it began to fall apart and die.  “You just can’t _stop_ , can you!”

Allan reached across and took Much’s hand gently, taking the branch from Much’s surprisingly unresisting fingers, and tapped the wood, kindling and embers back into a cheerful blaze.  He smiled with satisfaction at his handiwork.  “There you are, see?  Poke somethin’ _too_ hard, an’ it has the opposite effect to what you wanted.  It’s the same with women,” he added, with a world-weary sigh.

Much snatched back the branch and began swinging it wildly and ineffectually in the fire.  “Oh, and of course, you’d _know_ , wouldn’t you,” he snapped.  “Women always seem to _love_ your sort.”

With a sigh, Allan took back the charring branch, again without any protest from the older man.  “And just what _is_ my sort...exactly.”

Flustered, Much threw up his hands.  “Well – a clever dick.  And cocky.  And mouthy.  And full of himself.  And gobby.  And arrogant.  And always thinks he’s right and never listens to anyone else.”

Allan snorted.  “That’s _me_?  I think you’ve got that a bit wrong, mate.  Sounds more like _Robin_ you’re describing there than me.  Who does he think he’s kidding, playing Lord Bountiful like he does?  He might like to _think_ he’s the ‘People’s Hero’, but he’ll still be the lord of the manor when this is all over.  We’ll be nothing again, and he’ll be – no, he’ll _still_ be a poncy tosser.”

Much turned on him.  “ _Don’t_ say that!  Don’t – _say_ that.  It’s not right!  Robin’s a _good_ man!  He – he’s not _like_ that!  He _will_ remember his friends when the Sheriff’s defeated and Marian’s father is reinstated as Sheriff of Nottingham.  He _will_ remember us.”  Suddenly Much faltered, grabbing at his words as if they were running like sand through his fingers.  “He – he _will_.”

Unperturbed, Allan continued patting the fire with the greying branch and toyed with the dead leaves beside him in the silence that followed.  “Yeah,” he said at last.  “Just like he ‘remembered’ you during supper tonight.  Takin’ the piss out of you an’ all.”

“No, he _didn’t_!” Much insisted.  “ _You_ did – you, Djaq, Will, and John did.  But not Robin.  Oh no, not Robin.”

“Bollocks.  We were just talkin’ about ‘ow you manage to rustle up good scran for us from next to nothin’.  You’re a marvel, you are.  Can’t blame me for Robin bein’ a twat.”

Much rubbed his hand over his forehead.  “He helped save you from death in the Sheriff’s dungeons when we first met you.”

“Nah, I’d’ve found a way to get myself out at some point,” Allan grinned, dropping the branch and dusting off his hands.  “I’m pretty good at gettin’ meself out of sticky situations – you’d be surprised at some of the tricks I’ve learned in my time!”

Much raised an eyebrow.  “I’m sure you have, Allan...”

Allan winked at him.  “Yeah, I’m a man of _many_ talents.  Well, I’ve _‘ad_ to be, _‘aven’t_ I.  Wasn’t born no Lord ‘Igh an’ ‘Mighty like _some_ as I could mention.”

Much sighed.  “He’s still our leader, Allan.”

Allan raised his hand.  “Ah now, see, I don’t do leaders.  Leaders ‘ave this ‘abit of droppin’ you in the shit an’ buggerin’ off when things all go tits up.  I know.  I’ve been there.”

“ _Robin_ wouldn’t do that,” Much sniffed.

“Well you _would_ say that, wouldn’t you.  Been wiv ‘im a long time, after all.  Holy Land an’ all that.  ‘E trusts _you_ , an’ you trust ‘ _im_!  ‘E _relies_ on you!”

Suddenly Much’s head dropped, and he buried his head in his hands.  “Oh, what’s the point.  That _is_ the point.  I don’t think he _does_ rely on me any more.”  He sighed heavily.  “I don’t think he even _likes_ me.  I thought he was my friend, not just my master.  Been through _such_ a lot together, he and I, and yet...”

Allan patted him on the shoulder.  “Always a mistake that,” he declared, though with a gentle catch to his tone.  “Can’t ever truly be friends with the nobs.  They’re not like us, blokes like Robin of Locksley.  Not when you get down to the nitty-gritty.  They’re used to givin’ orders to the likes of us, an’ they expect us to obey ‘em – but they don’t really understand us.”

Much rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes.  “I suppose you could have a point, but – not Robin.  Not my Master.”

For a moment, Allan stared into the fire, chewing at his lips and tapping his fingers against his knee, and then he cleared his throat.  “’S that why he was taking the rise out of you earlier, then?  You’ve been a bit – well, _distracted_ even when we got back ‘ere.  It’s not like you – even _I_ can see that.”  He elbowed Much gently in the ribs.  “An’ I’d like to ‘elp.  I’m not a _complete_ arsehole, you know.”

“Oh no, I’ll not give you the satisfaction of _that!_   You’re just like the rest of them.  You think I’m – I’m – some – nincompoop, and you’ll just wheedle it all out of me and then you’ll go back to the others and then you’ll –”

Allan put his hand on Much’s upper arm, and was surprised to find how much the older outlaw was shaking.  “I’ll – _what_ , Much?”

“You’ll – just – _mock_ me.  Don’t try and say otherwise, Allan, because I know you will.  You all hate me.  That – that – _noise_ you all made when I left the camp –”

“We were just bein’ ‘igh-spirited,” Allan replied gently.  “No ‘arm meant, I swear it.”  He squeezed Much’s arm.  “Well, for what it’s worth, I _like_ you.  I know I don’t show it, but I do.  You’re a bit of an old woman sometimes, but you’ve a good ‘eart an’ you’ve never done _me_ no ‘arm.”  Then he sighed.  “Is this something Robin’s –”

The sounds of voices in the distance made both men freeze.  For a moment, they stared wildly around the clearing, their eyes straining to make sense of shapes in the gathering gloom, and then Much was stamping out the fire.  “ _Robin_!” he exclaimed in horror.  “And the others!  I can hear them!  Oh lord, the fire needs putting out completely – I can’t leave it like this!  Oh!  I left the ale in the tree – oh, they’ll find us!”

Allan leapt to his feet, his hands busy with unfastening his breeches.  “Don’t worry, I’ll sort it.  I needed a piss anyway.  Drank too much before I left camp,” he added wryly, as he began pissing on the remains of the fire.  He jerked his head towards the tree behind them.  “Meet you in the hollow oak?”

Much paused – then nodded.  “You promise you won’t give me away to the others?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!”  Allan shook the last drops of piss from his cock.  “Just get out of sight, you daft twat!”

Looking past Allan’s shoulder in the direction of the nearing voices, and then back at him, Much nodded:  picking up their cloaks and his satchel, he kicked more dirt over the barely-smouldering ashes of the fire, now acrid with the smell of wet burnt wood and urine, then turned and fled in the direction of the hollow oak.  With one last look behind him as he refastened his breeches, Allan scuffed more dirt and forest debris over the dead ashes and swiftly followed Much into hiding. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Allan and Much listened to the voices outside.  They knew it would be hard for the others to make sense of the remnants of the little fire in the gathering gloom, and that they wouldn’t stray very far from camp now that night had fallen.

“No, there’s nothin’.”  John’s voice was carried into the tree’s heart on the night-wind, and Allan and Much held their breath.  “Well, Much has _been_ here – you can smell where he’s had a fire.  But I don’t know where he is now – nor Allan, neither.” 

“Let’s go back to camp.”  Djaq’s voice was a little more distant.  “No point in wandering around in the dark all night.  They’ll come home in the morning.”

“If Much hasn’t managed to fall and break something before then,” Robin chuckled.  “He’s bound to have tripped over a tree-root by now – never known _anyone_ as clumsy as him!”

At that, Much gasped and started forward – but Allan grabbed him around the shoulders and pulled him close, wordlessly urging him to stay still and silent.

“I don’t think so.”  Djaq’s voice was noticeably cool.  “Much is not a foolish man.  He will find somewhere to shelter for the night.  Maybe Allan, too.”

John grunted in agreement.  “Aye, they’re both good lads.  And a night out in the forest alone won’t hurt either of them – they’ll be hungry come sun-up, and that will bring them home.”

Robin laughed.  “That’ll work.  Much is _always_ hungry.  It’ll do ‘im good to give ‘is stomach a rest – his guts are gettin’ to look a bit portly!”

At that, Much uttered a little sob and jerked fretfully in Allan’s arms.  “Ssh,” Allan warned him, burying his face in Much’s neck.  “ _Sssh_!”

Little John’s voice was already receding into the forest.  “Let’s get back to Will and settle down for the night.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was only when there was no sound of any human voice in the forest that Much and Allan finally began to relax.  Allan released Much, and went to peer round the protective curve of the oak.  “It’s all right,” he said, seeing and sensing no-one. “They’ve gone now.”

“Well I for one am very glad,” Much declared indignantly as he set about scraping a safe fire-pit in the earth and building a little pile of leaf-litter and twigs ready to set a fire.  “How _could_ Robin say something like that about me!  How _could_ he!”

“Notice that Djaq and John stuck up for you though,” Allan pointed out as he sat back down beside Much.  “Good to know ‘oo your _real_ friends are in times like these.”

“But – I thought my _Master_ was my friend!”  Much’s voice sounded weary and despondent.  “Oh, maybe it’s just because I’m, tired; but Allan, I know what Robin just said and I know what he said to me earlier...”

“What _did_ he say to you earlier?” Allan enquired, watching Much’s hands as he used flint and steel from the pouch he kept in his satchel to spark a fire.  “Are we gonna be safe in ‘ere with that?” he asked, suddenly nervous.

“Oh, yes.  I’ve done this before, you know.  After I first found this place.”  Much sat back on his heels, panting a little from blowing life into the fire, and loaded on enough wood from the store to last them the night before he replaced the fire making tools back in their pouch and his satchel and sat cross-legged in front of the fire, his back to Allan.  “Thought I’d turn it into a little hidey-hole, you know.  Just in case we needed it.  Well, I had to try it out, of course, I –”

“What did Robin say to you?”

Allan’s voice was quiet, but Much knew he couldn’t ignore its dark tone; and besides, suddenly, he _wanted_ to talk – even if it _was_ to Allan.  “It – was this afternoon, before – when we thought Marian was going to be married.  He – we – were sitting on the hill above Locksley village and...he said – said there was no-one more insignificant than I was.  That all I cared about was having a roof over my head and food in my belly.”

Allan shrugged.  “And what’s so wrong about that?  Isn’t that what we _all_ want?”

Much wrapped his arms around himself and rocked gently.  “He said there was no smaller – no lesser man than I.  He said I spoke every trite, foolish thing that came into my head and – and that I was like a pox on his skin that he kept scratching, but never went away.  _Me_!  After all I’ve done for him!”

“Ungrateful bastard,” Allan snarled, his hatred for Robin increasing by the second.

Much turned his head.  “Oh no,” he said quickly.  “I’m _sure_ he didn’t mean it to sound like that, really!  He _couldn’t_ have meant what he said!  I – I’m sure – I...”  He stared anxiously at Allan, his face pale in the firelight.  “He _didn’t_ mean it, did he?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Allan wanted desperately to say something comforting to Much, but all he managed were a few vague, muttered sympathetic platitudes that seemed to mollify Much, and, as the older man dutifully went to check that all was well outside their hiding place, Allan wished sincerely that there were something more he could do.  But he couldn’t think of anything more _to_ say because inside he was seething with rage.  All he could think of was what Much had told him – and of what he himself had heard Robin say about Much.  Robin Hood may have helped him find his place in the world for a while, but that didn’t mean Allan had to like him.

And Allan _didn’t_ like him.  In the time he’d spent with the outlaws, Allan had grown to loathe Robin, and everything he stood for.  Hated his pomposity, his arrogance, his ego, and the way he had of condescending to those further below the salt than himself.  Maybe that was down to the way he was born, how he’d been brought up; but then, _Marian_ had been of noble birth, and _she_ didn’t speak to her inferiors as though they’d oozed from some communal privy – in fact, she never treated them as inferiors at all.

He didn’t trust men like Robin:  never had, never would.  He didn’t like the way Robin used his gang as instruments to his own greater glory; anything they achieved as a group, Robin, would claim credit for as of right – as though they were nothing, and could _achieve_ nothing, without him there to guide them.  Well, Much for one had shown he was more than capable of leadership, for all his prissiness and fretting and fussing – and hadn’t John been an outlaw for longer than all of them put together?

And no, he didn’t like the way Robin had spoken to and of Much.  Much had a big heart, and was faithful to his master and to his friends, no matter what they did or said to him.  So how _dare_ Robin say such things, when Much had given his life to his service?  How _dare_ he, when Much and his family had no doubt been wiping the arses of Robin and his for _years_?  Allan didn’t wholly trust Robin; he didn’t believe that Robin wouldn’t betray his gang in the end, if it suited him.  He held no allegiance to _any_ of them.  At least you knew where you were with someone like Guy of Gisborne:  you knew where you stood.  For all his faults, at least he was _honest_ about what he was and what he wanted. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 “They’ve definitely gone,” Much announced on his return to the fireside.  He sat down next to Allan and yawned.  “Probably all tucked up in their bed rolls now,” he added wistfully.  “Except for whoever’s first on watch, of course.  Goodness, I’m so _tired_.”

“Me too,” agreed Allan, shuffling closer to Much.  He put his arm around Much’s shoulders and, to his surprise, felt the older man’s body relax and nestle in closer.  Not that Allan minded –the way Much was curling into him was surprisingly comforting – and he had to admit that a little comfort was just what he himself needed at that moment.  He looked sideways at Much, and saw that his eyes were closed; the suggestion that Much was actually trusting enough of him to be so familiar touched Allan and he smiled, resting his head comfortably against Much’s.

They sat in companionable silence for some time; Allan gazing into the fire, his eyes unfocussed as his mind drifted, and Much, seeming to doze.

_< This,>_ Allan thought, _< is nice.  This is very nice.>_ 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 Allan rubbed his chin against the top of Much’s head as the older man stirred in his half-sleep.  “You still feeling a bit out of sorts, Much?”

 “Mmm...’bit,” Much admitted drowsily.

 “Ah, now I think I can ‘elp you there.  I know ‘ow to make you feel better.  It’s what Tom an’ me used to do.”

 “Tom?”

 “My brother.”

 “Oh, yes, I remember.  I was sorry about him.  So what did you do, then?” Much asked, snuggling closer and yawning.

 “Want me to show you?”

 Much yawned again.  “Yes, please.”

 “Shove over a bit, then.”

Allan slipped his leg round Much’s body so that he was sitting behind him, then slid up against Much’s back, arms wrapped around Much’s waist.  Breathing in the soft, sleepy scent of him, Allan fumbled at the ties of Much’s breeches.  The lack of more than a feeble protest by way of hand twitching in response made Allan wonder if Much had actually gone back to sleep; but he persisted, unfastening the ties of the breeches and then, after spitting on his fingers, slipping his right hand inside to find Much’s cock.

Smiling at Much’s soft snores, Allan began stroking him slowly, hand moving harder and faster as Much became erect.  He heard Much’s breathing change, and felt him shift, moaning as he lifted his hips slightly and pushed himself into Allan’s fingers.  _Oh, he was awake all right!_

“You all right with this?” Allan breathed against Much’s ear, lips tickled by a curl of Much’s bright auburn hair.

“Oh yes,” Much mumbled back.  “Oh yes, _yes_.  Oh, good lord...”  He placed his hand over Allan’s and Allan let himself be guided, Much’s fingers linking with his, until at length they were working as one, pumping Much’s plump, sturdy cock with firm, gentle strokes.  “Y-you and your brother used to do this?”

His breathing keeping pace with his own increasing heartbeat, Allan nodded, Much’s hair rubbing against his face.  “Yes.”  His own cock was now beginning to rub deliciously against the rough cloth of his breeches – oh well, he’d worry about that later.

Much groaned softly and his fingers tightened against Allan’s.  “Oooh, that’s – that feels – ooh, that feels really – very – _ooh!_ – nice indeed!  N-not to each other, though, surely?”

Allan blew Much’s errant red-gold curl away from his nose.  “Sometimes.”

Much squeaked – though whether in horror or arousal, Allan wasn’t sure.  “Oh, good lord.  Oh – oh, good lord!  Y-your ow –”

“Sssh,” Allan grinned, smiling into Much’s hair.  “Who says Tom actually _was_ my brother?”

“W-wasn’t he?”

Allan shrugged, knowing that he might as well admit the truth.  “Well, man like me needs a cover, doesn’t ‘e?  Had to tell you lot _something_!”

Much’s hand tightened even more around Allan’s.  “I – _I’d’ve_ understood,” he panted softly; then moaned as his eyelids fluttered and his climax began to overwhelm him.

Allan brushed a kiss against Much’s ear.  “I know,” he whispered gently.  “I know.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

During the night that followed, Allan ministered tenderly to Much once more, and he to Allan, before they finally drifted into sleep, Much grumbling a little and warning Allan not to tell the others or take advantage.  Allan swore he would never tell – and meant it.  Djaq, and possibly the Lady Marian, he felt would understand, but not John and Will – though he doubted they’d be horrified.  _Robin_ , on the other hand, would most likely not take kindly to the news – a fact that afforded Allan a certain amount of satisfaction.

Oh, Robin was well aware of Much’s feelings for him, all right.  It was yet one more reason to hate him.  Allan had met men like Robin before; men of his social standing who knew that lower-ranked men could become besotted with them and therefore do anything for them, even sacrificing their own lives if they had to:  men who would never reciprocate those passionate feelings – who saw such devotion and adoration almost as their _right_.  So while Robin might at times view Much with contempt and wouldn’t want to give Much what he desired, he’d still resent Much taking pleasure from someone who _would_ show him affection.  And, for all Much’s faults – and, God knew, he, Allan a Dale, wasn’t perfect either – Allan felt a great deal of affection for him.

So Robin thought that Much was nothing, did he?  _There is no smaller man than you_?  They may have been words spoken in anger, but it seemed to Allan that Robin had intended those words to hurt and to wound.  But one day, if Robin didn’t take care, he would drive away all those from whom he demanded allegiance – and _then_ where would he be?  Well, he for one was tired of always having to stand in Robin’s shadow – of being talked down to and patronised.

And he had to think of the future – of what would happen to himself and the outlaws when Robin was back sleeping under silk sheets and never fearing a hangman’s’ noose or an empty belly.  When they had all “served their purpose” and been tossed away like shit from a chamber pot being emptied into the streets.

Sitting in the light of the fire, Much’s steady breathing comforting against his shoulder, Allan felt his anger, dislike, and resentment towards harden into a sharp, black blade:  no, the “smaller man” was certainly not Much.

_< Fuck you, Robin Hood.  Much is a far better man than you’ll ever be!>_

...And one day, Allan thought, he would show Robin that so, too, was _he_... 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


End file.
